


One More Chapter We've Yet to Write, Redux

by darkrose



Series: Futures Aligned [2]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, And then there’s Urianger, Angst, Arranged Marriage, Ascians (Final Fantasy XIV), Au Ra Xaela Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Bad Parenting, Breathplay, Bullying, Canon-Typical Violence, Child Warrior of Light, Dom/sub, Dorks in Love, Emet-Selch is too, Garlean Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Garleans (Final Fantasy XIV), Gen, Gratuitous Use Of Magic, Grooming Accusations, Guilt, In-universe racism, M/M, Patch 5.3: Reflections in Crystal Spoilers, Spoilers for all of FFXIV, Teacher-Student Relationship, Tumblr: FFXIVwrite, Tumblr: FFXIVwrite2020, Unethical Experimentation, War Crimes, WoL is bad with feelings, mortal/immortal relationships, non-human biology
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-03
Updated: 2020-09-19
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:07:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 16
Words: 10,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26266234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkrose/pseuds/darkrose
Summary: Collected prompts for theFFXIVWrite2020 challengefeaturing Galqar Haragin, Warrior of Variable Luminosity. This year's installment will focus on my canon-divergent AU Futures Aligned. As in my canon continuity, Galqar was abducted from the Steppe by Garlean military researchers as a child, but instead of being rescued by Limsan pirates and being raised in Vylbrand, he was taken to Garlemald. The scientists presented their prize to Emperor Solus zos Galvus, who immediately recognized the half-complete soul of his friend and lover who once held the Fourteenth Seat of the Convocation—and history changed.Spoilers through Patch 5.3: Reflections in Crystal.
Relationships: Gaius van Baelsar/Warrior of Light, Nero tol Scaeva/Warrior of Light, Solus zos Galvus | Emet-Selch/Warrior of Light, Urianger Augurelt/Warrior of Light, Varis zos Galvus/Regula van Hydrus, Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV)/Original Character(s)
Series: Futures Aligned [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1475690
Comments: 3
Kudos: 14





	1. Table of Contents

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Collected prompts for the [FFXIVWrite2020 challenge](https://ffxiv-write.carrd.co/) featuring Galqar Haragin, Warrior of Variable Luminosity. This year's installment will focus on my canon-divergent AU Futures Aligned. As in my canon continuity, Galqar was abducted from the Steppe by Garlean military researchers as a child, but instead of being rescued by Limsan pirates and being raised in Vylbrand, he was taken to Garlemald. The scientists presented their prize to Emperor Solus zos Galvus, who immediately recognized the half-complete soul of his friend and lover who once held the Fourteenth Seat of the Convocation—and history changed.
> 
> Spoilers through Patch 5.3: Reflections in Crystal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The central relationship in this fic is between Emet-Selch, a 12,000-year-old immortal in the body of a man in his 80's and 30's at various times, and Galqar, who is 9 when they first meet. Nothing even remotely sexual happens between them until Galqar is 17; Emet-Selch makes a very clear distinction in his mind between the kid who's essentially Solus' great-grandson, Veritas lux Seneca's pupil, and the young man who has regained some of his memories of their shared past. Several characters make the incorrect but understandable assumption that the relationship involves sexual abuse or grooming. There's also the very complicated dynamic because Emet-Selch's goal is to raise Galqar to the the Fourteenth's seat. I can't figure out a short way to warn for that.
> 
> Other stuff to mention: lots of canon-typical racism—Galqar is a Xaela growing up in the upper echelons of Garlean society—and violence, some of it committed by Galqar.

**Crux** : Lahabrea questions Emet-Selch's motivations regarding the Fourteenth.

 **Sway** : Varis and Regula play megalith and talk around important topics.

 **Muster** : Galqar braces himself to tell Sidurgu what happened at the Vault.

 **Clinch** : Zenos will not tolerate anyone else tormenting his adopted brother.

 **Matter of Fact** : Glauca needs help with his annual molt.

 **Control** (Free Day): Nero likes to be in control, except when he doesn't. **NSFW**

 **Nonagenarian** : Meanwhile, at the Imperial Palace...Emet-Selch pokes Varis with a stick.

 **Clamor** : Antonia fae Claudius meets her intended husband for the first time at the betrothal contract signing.

 **Lush** : Galqar seeks a moment's respite under the canopy of the Rak'tika Greatwood.

 **Ultracrepidarian** : It's not easy being a Xaela in the Imperial court.

 **Tooth and Nail** : The night before his formal betrothal, Glauca is a little nervous. **NSFW**

 **Part** : Nero rather likes the prince. Livia does not.

 **Ache** : The Calamity has passed, and Glauca is seven times rejoined. **NSFW**

 **Fade** : Phoebus says farewell to Hades.

 **Panglossian** : Emet-Selch and Galqar needle each other.


	2. #1: Crux (Emet-Selch & Lahabrea)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solus zos Galvus is dead, and Emet-Selch has returned to Garlemald with a new face and name in order to tutor the Emperor's adopted son in magic. The boy known as the "Savage Prince" is happy about this. No one else is—least of all Lahabrea.

**crux**  
_noun: The decisive or most important point at issue._

Emet-Selch smiled as he watched his pupil leave, black-scaled tail bouncing with each step. He’d had high expectations, given whose soul was contained in the small vessel, but Glauca was already exceeding them. In just over a month, he’d shown astonishing control over fire- and lightning-aspected aether, and was making strong progress with earth, wind, and water. He struggled with ice magic, but that wasn’t surprising; Phoebus had suffered from the same problem with his affinity toward fire and light.

With a snap of his fingers, Emet-Selch set the training room to rights, instantly repairing the burnt and broken striking dummies and making the puddles of water vanish. The one thing he hadn’t predicted was how much he’d enjoy what should have been the tedious task of training a child. It turned out Glauca was so much like Phoebus had been at a similar age—if fifty could be said to be similar to twelve—that Emet-Selch finally understood Preceptor Themis’ frequent fond looks at the youngest student in her cohort.

And if it was easier to focus on him as a child rather than what they’d become to each over over the centuries, or how it had ended, with them flinging spells at one another rather than together against a common foe, the anger and regret and pain in the instant before the world was sundered...Emet-Selch thought that was just as well.

He felt the aether shift just before Lahabrea stepped through a portal. He looked around the room until at last his eyes settled on Emet-Selch. “Is that—why did you change bodies?”

It took a moment to remember that Lahabrea had never seen him in this vessel. “I liked Solus—the younger version, at least, but it’s a bit recognizable, especially in the empire I built. And since I came back to teach Phoebus’ vessel how to use his magic, I couldn’t very well be a Garlean. It’s taken a bit of getting used to, but it’s not bad-looking by any means.” He reached up and pulled the tie from his wine-red hair, shaking it out until it fell around his shoulders, and grinned at Lahabrea.

He expected a sneer, or a look of disgust from his colleague, who had often criticized him for being vain. The thoughtful set of Lahabrea’s mouth under his mask took Emet-Selch by surprise.

“That’s what this is about, isn’t it?” he said.

Emet-Selch arched an eyebrow. “Pardon?”

Lahabrea waved a gloved hand. “All of this, with the Fourteenth. It’s not about him atoning for his abandoning us during the Final Days, or having his skills turned to benefit our Lord. The real reason you’re doing this—the crux of the matter—is that you want your lover back.” Now his mouth twisted in revulsion. “I’d wondered why you were so focused on this particular fragment, when he’s a child, even by mortal standards. You can mold him into what you want, so that he won’t run off and leave you this time.”

“You’ve never loved anyone, and no one’s ever loved you,” Emet-Selch snarled, his Sigil flaring red. “How could you possibly know what I want from Phoebus?”

“I know that I would want nothing to do with someone who walked away from me, as he did,” Lahabrea shot back. “Someone who turned his back on his responsibility as a member of the Convocation, who refused to do what was necessary to save our people. You have ever been blinded by your obsession with him, and now—”

“Is there a point to this?” Emet-Selch dismissed his Sigil, annoyed by his loss of composure. “Or were you simply bored and decided to waste time needling me?”

Lahabrea gave him a very tiny smile. “Perhaps I simply wish to visit an old friend who was in poor health when we last spoke?”

Emet-Selch rolled his eyes. “Don’t insult my intelligence, Lahabrea—or yours. We haven’t been friends for eons.”

“Very well.” The smile vanished. “As per our agreement, I am prepared to claim the favor that was my price for agreeing to this farce. I wish to perform a series of experiments, with your great-grandson as my test subject.”

“Zenos? What on earth do you want to test on him?” Emet-Selch rarely thought about the boy, save for ensuring he didn’t go too far in tormenting Glauca.

“You said that he dreams of the Final Days, yet he lacks the Echo. I wish to determine how that can be possible, and if there is a way to remedy the latter condition.”

Emet-Selch was still confused. “But why? To what end?” After so very many years, he could read Lahabrea well even without peeking at his soul, and right now, he seemed…abashed?

Lahabrea shrugged. “I am curious.” _Bored_ , in other words. “Besides, just think of it: if we can awaken the Echo in the people of your Empire, we can set them against whatever champions She sees fit to raise. ”

It seemed pointless as far as Emet-Selch was concerned; even if it was successful in Zenos, the concept was unlikely to scale. “I’m not sure why you need my permission rather than his father’s, but you have it.”

“He may be Emperor in name, but we both know that you still rule here, even in that form.” Lahabrea’s bow was only slightly mocking. “My thanks, Emet-Selch.”

He opened a portal, pausing just before vanishing into the shadows. “You would give you own descendant over to me without a second thought, yet you say I know nothing of love.”

Emet-Selch stared after him, then slowly applauded. “Well played, Speaker,” he said to the empty room. The worst part was that Lahabrea was right—at least in part. Hades wanted Phoebus back as much as Emet-Selch wanted Azem to take his Seat again. But he was patient, and he would wait until that beloved soul was closer to whole before attempting to raise him to his former office, until he remembered, and was old enough to carry the weight of those memories.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As Veritas lux Seneca, Emet-Selch basically looks like [Ardyn from Final Fantasy XV](https://twitter.com/ValkyrieofArdyn/status/983807360207536129/photo/1), only without the stubble.
> 
> Glauca wir Galvus is Galqar's Garlean name. Mostly I chose it because it sounded similar, and because AU Galqar looks like his first fantasia, with blue-gray skin instead of dark brown. Also because FFXV.


	3. #2: Sway (Varis zos Galvus/Regula van Hydrus)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> During their regular game of megalith, Regula dares to ask Varis about his adopted son.

**sway**   
_verb: To control or influence (a person or course of action)._

Regula set down his piece and nodded at Varis. “Your turn.”

Anyone who didn’t know him well would describe his expression as professionally neutral. Varis knew better; the slight crinkles at the corners of Regula’s eyes were the equivalent of a grin on most other men. It meant that he was confident in his next move, probably because he had a trick up his sleeve.

Interesting.

Varis took his time contemplating the megalith board. The record in their matches over the years was decisively in his favor, but Regula was by no means an opponent to be underestimated. He was just about to set down his piece when Regula spoke.

“I caught part of a sparring match with Glauca today. He was quite impressive.”

Varis’ hand tightened on the metal figurine.

“His gunblade instructor had him fighting four opponents, all older than he is. He took them down easily, using both magic and blade to his advantage.”

Varis slammed his piece down on the board with more force than he intended. “Did we not agree that you would refrain from criticizing how I deal with my son?” he said through clenched teeth. He looked up at Regula, who regarded him with a calm, steady gaze.

“I agreed that I would not tell you how to raise Zenos,” he said, “not Glauca. And I am not telling you how to raise him; simply stating a fact: he showed remarkable command of both physical and magical combat techniques for being—what is he, sixteen? Anyway, you’ve made quite clear that you don’t consider him your son.”

“I don’t.” The boy was an unwelcome reminder of his grandfather’s duplicity, tricking him into accepting a savage—practicalluy a beastman—into the Imperial household by dangling the throne as a prize. He had watched Emet-Selch as Solus patiently teaching the boy his letters, then dying and returning with a new, non-Garlean face in order to train him in magic, and he thought of how much he would have given for a moment of his grandfather’s attention as a child.

It was infuriating.

“Did lux Seneca put you up to this?” Varis demanded. His grandfather’s alias added insult to injury: Veritas lux Seneca, Truth of the Ancients in Old Garlean. Mocking as always, hiding his nature in plain sight.

Regula looked genuinly puzzled. “Who?”

“The boy’s magic tutor. He’s forever trying to sway my opinion in favor of the savage brat.”

“I spoke to no one. I happened to be passing by and heard the commotion,” Regula said. “There was quite the audience.” He paused and added, sounding just a bit hurt, “Do you truly think I would ever try to convince you of a course that was not in your best interests, and those of the Empire?”

Varis sighed, and glanced down. “Forgive me, Regula. I know that you are my one unwavering ally, and I shouldn’t have suggested otherwise.” He desperately wished he could tell Regula the truth, to share the impossibly heavy burden of knowledge with someone. But his was a hollow throne and a tin crown, and if Emet-Selch and his shadowless comrades decided Varis was no longer a useful figurehead, they would replace him—or worse, claim his body and manipulate their puppet directly. He couldn’t take that risk, not if there was even the slightest chance he could find a way to thwart the Ascians’ schemes.

“Varis.” He looked up in surprise when Regula reached out and touched the back of his hand. “If you mean for Zenos to succeed you, he will need someone he can trust at his side, as Solus had van Baelsar and you have me. Glauca could be that man for Zenos.”

Startled, Varis let out a bark of a laugh. “Zenos despises him, as he does everyone.” And Varis had encouraged the division, making it clear that he approved when his older son tormented the younger. Still…

…perhaps Regula had a point. Maybe it wasn’t too late to turn the boy’s apparent gifts to serve the Empire rather than the Ascians. And if Emet-Selch lost the affections of his pet savage, then that would make victory all the sweeter.

“Oh, and I believe the match is mine,” Regula said, and he was right. Varis’ last move had trapped him, and Regula claimed the win, grinning like his namesake serpent.

Varis sighed, but only for form’s sake. The traditional forfeit between them would be a relief, giving him a few hours with the weight of rule set aside, and no discussion of uncomfortable topics. “After dinner then, in my chambers. I shall look forward to it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Varis is kind of an awful person, but he got dealt a shit hand. I like to imagine that his friendship with Regula gave him a little respite.


	4. #3: Muster (WoL, past WoL/WoL!Haurchefant)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Galqar steels himself to deliver the news of the fallen to Haurchefant's friend, Sidurgu.

**muster**   
_verb: Summon up (a particular feeling, attitude, or response)._

Galqar stared at the soul crystal in his hand. In some lights it looked black; then he moved his hand and it was dark red, like the blood on Haurchefant’s mouth as he struggled to speak. He closed his eyes and gripped his arm tightly, welcoming the pain of his claws digging into his bicep.

The moment he’d walked into Carcare Primus, he’d realized that the gods he barely remembered would demand recompense for his sins. Like those he’d condemned while calling it mercy, he would pay for his crimes.

He just hadn’t thought the price would be so very high.

Haurchefant had been his first real friend, someone who wasn’t ordered to care for him, or forced to marry him, or…whatever Veritas was. He’d invited Galqar to bed because he wanted to, not because he hoped to gain anything by it. When Galqar protested that his hands were too bloody, Haurchefant had laughed and folded his long fingers over Galqar’s palms.

“When Ser Ompagne found me, I was a thief and a whore in the Brume,” he’d said. “He taught me and Sid and Fray how to use the darkness inside of us. I’m a dark knight, my friend—trust me when I say yours aren’t the only stained hands here.” Then he pressed a kiss to Galqar’s palm and pulled him down to the bedroll.

Galqar had managed to muster the courage to face Count Edmont, though he’d almost broken under the weight of a father’s grief and his own guilt— _I could have shielded him; what made him think a greatsword could block an aetheric lance; you noble idiot why why why_ — Now he had to deliver the news to Sidurgu, to tell him that he was the last of the three boys the old knight had taken under his wing. Galqar almost looked forward to the storm of vitriol he expected from his fellow Xaela, who already hated him.

It wasn’t like he didn’t deserve it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Galqar's background isn't the only difference between this AU and the canon universe. In this branch of reality, Count Edmont didn't learn about Haurchefant's existence until he was nearly grown. Haurchefant grew up on the streets of the Brume, where Ser Ompagne and his ragtag pair of orphans saved him from being summarily executed by a Temple Knight he'd tried to pickpocket. When Edmont's political enemies came looking for the rumored Fortemps bastard, Ompagne smuggled him out of the city. 
> 
> Eventually Haurchefant wound up in Ul'dah, where he helped the Sultana recover her crown—the first step on his path to becoming the Warrior of Light. He was the first among the Scions to welcome Galqar after his exile and fall from grace post-Praetorium. 
> 
> Galqar kept Haurchefant's soul crystal, and used it to guide him on the dark knight's path.
> 
> For a hint about the incidents behind Galqar's guilt, see [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20508437/chapters/49515296).


	5. #4: Clinch (Young!Zenos & Child!WoL)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zenos cares little for his adopted brother, but neither will he allow anyone else to torment him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Warning: Contains in-universe racism, bullying, and sexual harrassment of a child. Zenos is 14; Glauca is 11.

**clinch**   
_noun: A struggle or scuffle at close quarters, especially (in boxing) one in which the fighters become too closely engaged for full-arm blows._

As usual, Zenos was bored. Beating on lifeless dummies was only marginally less dull than any of his other options, but since he couldn’t think of anything more interesting to do, he headed for the training rooms. He ignored the servants who shied out of his way as he passed, focused only on his immediate goal.

The door to the first room he approached was closed, but he could hear noises behind it; sounds of fighting and an occasional high-pitched yelp. Then silence, and a male voice with a noble’s drawl: “Now what?”

Zenos moved closer, his curiosity aroused. He heard what sounded like a slap followed by a shout, and a hiss of pain.

“Your father got you on a feral _gedan_ bitch. ” A child’s voice, slightly accented, furious.

“Savage brat—no, don’t hit him; you’ll hurt your hand. Get his tail.” Glauca made a noise that sounded like a stifled scream.

“Now what?”

“Get his trousers off. I want to see if he’s got scales on his prick.”

That, Zenos decided, was quite enough of that. The door was locked from the inside, but his palm print easily overrode the mechanism, and the door slid open. There were three of them, sons of high-ranking families, all near in age to him, sent to the Imperial Court to befriend the new crown price. One had Glauca in a clinch, his arms pinned behind him as his friend struggled to pull down the savage’s trousers over his tail. The third stood over a discarded training blade with blood on one edge, a cloth pressed to his face.

Zenos smiled.

When his father told him that he was adopting a savage from Othard, Zenos had felt the stirrings of a cautious hope. A brother would be something new and different. He’d been a shy little thing at first, barely able to speak the common tongue, and he looked like a beast with his claws and horns and sharp teeth. At Zenos’ insistence, the boy had tried to teach him magic, at least until his great-grandfather had caught them at it.

“Impossible, boy,” Solus had told Glauca, barely acknowledging Zenos’ presence. “Garleans can’t manipulate aether—that’s why you’re special.” He’d smiled then, and ruffled the savage’s hair fondly.

Now Solus was dead, Varis was Emperor, and Zenos was _yae_ , not _wir_. He knew his father didn’t want the brat, but instead of disowning him now that he ruled, he allowed the boy to stay, though he barely acknowledged his presence. Zenos found mild amusement in invading his brother’s privacy, standing over him as he attempted to study, and slipping into his room to watch him as he slept. He never touched him, however, and he wasn’t pleased to see someone else doing so, but knowing that the boy had fought back was exhilarating.

“Unhand him,” he told Glauca’s tormentors.

As one, they stared at him, slack-jawed and stupid. “My lord?” began the one holding Glauca, “He’s just a savage—” He never finished the sentence, cut off by Zenos’ blade slashing across his forehead just below his third eye.

“I dislike having to repeat myself,” Zenos said. “By the decree of His Radiance, my father, this boy is a prince of House Galvus. Savage or no, you have no right to lay a hand on him.”

The one Glauca had wounded looked stubborn, like he was about to protest, until he got a good look at Zenos’ expression.

“Leave. Now,” Zenos ordered, and they did, one of them stumbling as a small booted foot caught him behind the knee.

When they were gone, Zenos picked up his brother’s sword and handed it too him, hilt first. Glauca had set his clothes to rights and took the weapon, bowing to Zenos.

“Thank you,” he said. His silver-ringed blue eyes gleamed, his alien features unreadable.

Zenos tilted his head, curious. “Why didn’t you use your magic?”

For a moment he thought his brother wouldn’t answer, but finally he said, “They surprised me. It takes time to cast a spell.” He held up a blue-grey hand, and murmured something under his breath. After several seconds, a tiny blue flame flickered at the end of each clawed finger. Zenos stared, fascinated, until Glauca shook his hand, dispelling the fire.

As his brother headed for the door, Zenos called, “I will expect payment one day.”

To his surprise, Glauca laughed. “I would expect nothing less, brother.” He walked out, the door sliding closed behind him.

Zenos’s answering laugh echoed in the empty training room. He would look forward to it.


	6. #5: Matter of Fact (Child!WoL & Emet-Selch)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Glauca is molting, and he's having trouble paying attention. Veritas offers his assistance.

**matter of fact**   
_adjective: Unemotional and practical._

“Now, while Eorzean scholars equate the passive principle with darkness, they are wrong as usual, and—is there something wrong?” Normally, Glauca was attentive when Emet-Selch was lecturing, but he’d been fidgeting and squirming since the lesson had started.

“Sorry,” the boy said, hunching down in his chair and looking utterly miserable. “I’m fine.”

Emet-Selch frowned. “You clearly are not, which begs the question of why you are lying to me.”

Glauca’s eyes widened and he sat up a little straighter. “I—no, _magister_ , I didn’t mean—it’s just…” He deflated again. “It’s stupid.”

“Why don’t you let me be the judge of that, hmm?” Emet-Selch leaned against his lectern and waited while Glauca cleared his throat.

“I’m…molting,” he said at last. “It’s…my scales. Only I can’t reach the back, so they itch.”

Emet-Selch’s frown deepened. “You have no attendants?” Before Solus died, he’d made sure to put a servant in charge of caring for the boy.

“Miss Kuri used to help me, but after my—after His Eternal Radiance passed, His Radiance sent her away. He said I didn’t need her anymore.”

 _Remarkably petty, even for Varis._ Emet-Selch would need to rectify that, but in the meantime… “You must remove the dead scales, I assume?” Glauca nodded. “Walk me through the process, and I shall assist you.”

The boy looked hesitant. “I…need to take my clothes off.”

 _Zodiark’s Mercy._ “Very well,” he said aloud, keeping his tone matter-of-fact, “while you disrobe, I will make preparations. Is it best to lie down for this?”

“Yes, _magister_.”

Emet-Selch turned his back to give the boy a semblance of privacy, and snapped his fingers to summon a long, cloth-covered table into the classroom. He smiled at the gasp behind him. From the first, Glauca had begged him to teach him that trick; Emet-Selch had explained that he would need to wait until he’d mastered the basic elemental magicks. _And until you’ve been restored to your proper self,_ he hadn’t said. Still, the boy’s fascination with all things magical was a promising sign.

“I’m ready,” the boy said, and Emet-Selch beckoned him to the table and instructed him to lie face-down. Most of his scales were on his back, like black wings spreading across his shoulders and trailing down his spine. Emet-Selch touched one, memorizing the texture and feel of it. When he was certain he could distinguish the old from the new, he let his hands hover over the boy, using his power to lift the dead scales away and banish them into the aether.

Glauca squirmed, and Emet-Selch paused. “Do try to stay still.”

“Sorry—it tickles!” Emet-Selch rolled his eyes.

At twelve years old, Glauca was far from the size of an adult male Au Ra, so the scale removal went relatively quickly. Emet-Selch patted his shoulder lightly when he was done. “Up you go. Get dressed and we can continue with your lesson, hopefully with not as much wriggling, hmm?”

Once Glauca was back in his tunic and trousers and seated at his desk, he looked up at Emet-Selch. “Thank you, _magister_. Can you—would you be willing to teach me how to do that?”

Emet-Selch raised an eyebrow. “I was going to speak with your father, since you’re old enough that you should have a valet, at least.”

“Yes, but…what if something happens? I should be able to take care of myself.” The stubborn set of Glauca’s mouth as much as his words reminded Emet-Selch of Phoebus. _“I don’t have time to come back and file form alpha-three-six delta-seven to request to be added to the Convocation schedule a decade from now. It’s different out there, Hades; when problems come up I need to be able to fix them myself—or call on those I know can help.”_

He smiled. “Admirable. Very well; I will teach you— _after_ you’ve mastered the fundamental principles of aetherology. Let us continue, shall we?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, Varis really is that petty. And yes, my headcanon is that Au Ra molt.


	7. #6: Control (Nero/WoL) NSFW

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nero likes to be in control, except when he doesn't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear, this is the word the randomizer threw at me. It’s like the universe wanted me to write some porn, and who am I to say no?
> 
> Here's where the rating changes; this chapter is definitely NSFW. Includes D/S elements and breathplay. Set 3 years after the Seventh Umbral Calamity; Glauca is serving as Tribunus Laticlavius of the XIVth Imperial Legion in Ala Mhigo. Glauca is 20; Nero is 32.

**control**   
_noun: 1. The power to influence or direct people's behavior or the course of events. 2. The power to restrain something, especially one's own emotions or actions._

Nero was a control freak. He knew it, and was fine with it—he was a genius; why shouldn’t he run things? Unfortunately, being a control freak wasn’t exactly a survival skill in the Imperial Legions. Once he decided that his path to greatness was through the military and not the Imperial Magitek Academy, he’d been forced to learn how to… _control_ his natural instincts and keep his mouth shut even when his so-called superior officers were wrong.

His desire to be in control wasn’t only a issue professionally. Garlond may not have been his intellectual equal, but he was close enough that Nero didn’t mind when their competitiveness extended to bed. Sadly, most of his fellow officers in the legions weren’t even up to Garlond’s standards. That changed when he was assigned to the XIVth—van Baelsar was both intelligent and attractive—but Nero realized quickly that Livia would castrate him if he looked at the Black Wolf for too long.

Nero had assumed the Savage Prince would be true to his nickname; instead Glauca wir Galvus turned out to be quite unexpected. He could read and write fluently in the common tongue, Doman, Old Garlean, and to Nero’s shock and delight, Allagan. Much of his knowledge was broad rather than deep, but he had some genuinely revolutionary ideas on combining magic and technology, especially given that he was barely over twenty. His appearance was bestial at first glance, but having come to know him, Nero found him fascinating, and being intimate with him was an endless process of discovery. The way his eyes seemed to glow in the darkness, the contrast between scales and skin, the perfect control when those deadly claws were at one’s throat…

The motion of Nero’s hips stilled. Beneath him, Glauca frowned. “I don’t believe I asked you to stop,” he said, his tone deceptively mild. Nero had learned the hard way that Glauca’s tongue was as sharp as his teeth and claws. Taking a shallow, careful breath, he began to move again. Glauca tightened his hand around Nero’s neck.

“That’s better…yes. Like that.” He wrapped his legs around Nero’s waist, urging him deeper. “Come _on_ Scaeva; I know you can fuck me harder than this.”

Nero clenched his teeth, snapping his hips forward at a brutal pace, as ordered. An unwanted prince was still a prince, even when he was the one on his back, and Nero loved and hated it. He shivered as he got close and Glauca pressed a thumb against his windpipe, claws digging into his skin.

“Now—come inside me.” Nero cried out as his body forced him to obey, spurred on by Glauca’s teeth sinking into his shoulder hard enough to draw blood. He lay on top of him, unmoving until Glauca shoved him aside. Sometimes he’d allow Nero to finish him off; this time he manhandled Nero onto his stomach. Nero buried his face in a pillow, imagining Glauca’s long fingers wrapped around his curved, ridged cock. He heard a soft groan before he felt warm stickiness on his back, and then the bed settled as Glauca flopped down next to him.

Nero looked up, but as usual, he couldn’t sense anything when Glauca snapped his fingers and summoned towels out of nowhere. He handed one to Nero and they cleaned up in a comfortable silence. When Nero rose and started to dress for the trek back to his rooms, Glauca rose as well, clapping Nero on the shoulder, squeezing the place where he’d bitten him.

“Always a pleasure, Scaeva,” he said, and just like that, they were colleagues and equals again, or as much as they could be with the difference between _tol_ and _wir_. He didn’t try to kiss him—not that he could with those horns—or make it anything other than what it was. Nero was sure he didn’t want anything else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really love writing Nero. Even in his own thoughts he makes bad puns. 
> 
> Lore tidbit: While Glauca and Nero have the same rank, the higher always prevails, so he goes by _wir_ , signifying that he's a member of the Imperial family, but not in the line of succession. In his case, that's very important.
> 
> Glauca's still not complete enough to use Creation magic, but Emet-Selch does manage to teach him telekinesis, which is how he summons the towels. The finger-snap is just because he thinks it looks cool.


	8. #7: Nonagenarian (Emet-Selch & Varis)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meanwhile, in the Imperial Palace, Emet-Selch is bored and pokes Varis with a stick.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set during 4.5: A Requiem for Heroes. Following Operation Archon, Glauca was exiled from Imperial territory. He joined the Scions and reverted to using his birth name.

**nonagenarian**   
_noun: A person who is from 90 to 99 years old._

“You should thank him, you know,” Emet-Selch said as he slouched against the Imperial throne. It wasn’t all that comfortable, but it was better than sitting in the bloody thing. He’d designed it to be visually impressive, not cozy.

Varis paused in his pacing. “What?”

Emet-Selch rolled his eyes. “Your youngest son. Glauca—or Galqar, as he’s back to calling himself these days.”

“I know who you meant,” Varis said through clenched teeth, “but why should I thank that ungrateful savage for anything?”

“Why?” Emet-Selch leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Surely you don’t think—what am I saying; of course you don’t think—but if you did, would you really assume I hadn’t planned for multiple contingencies? Finding my old friend’s current vessel was a happy accident. The original concept was that Emperor Solus would see Project Meteor to its conclusion, ushering in the Seventh Rejoining. Following that, I would rule for another decade or two until the vessel became uninhabitable. Sad, really, that a nonagenarian is ancient by modern standards.”

He rose, the better to gesture dramatically. “And then? After a long life in service to his people, First Emperor Solus dies, passing into eternity and leaving his empire in the hands of…”

Varis’ hands joined his teeth in the clenching. “My late, unlamented uncle?”

Emet-Selch shook his head. “Of course not. That’s the best part, my boy: I had no intention of naming an heir.”

“So the empire— _your_ empire—would tear itself apart in civil war?”

“Did I not tell you when you chose this path that I created the empire to serve as an engine of chaos? That the entire point was to create the conditions necessary for multiple Rejoinings?” Emet-Selch flung his arms wide. “A mighty empire soaking three continents in the blood of internal strife! Quite genius, if I do say—”

This time, Varis put the bullet through his vessel’s third eye.

“Does that make you feel better?” Emet-Selch asked once he’d transferred to a new vessel. “I’m honestly curious.”

“I am curious about something as well,” Varis replied. “What is your great design now that your ‘old friend’ is the savages’ champion and blessed by Hydaelyn?”

The terrifying and inevitable truth was that for once, Emet-Selch wasn’t sure. It galled him a bit; the tides of fate had ever swirled around Phoebus, and he should have remembered that. “An interesting question,” he said, “I admit that I didn’t expect the Scions to embrace him so readily—or for the Ala Mhigans to be so willing to forget and forgive his crimes. My dear Galqar has become a bit of a thorn in our sides.”

“Then you should be happy that your comrade will soon remove that thorn.” Varis smiled like an emperor, vicious and cruel. “You and yours have stolen any joy I might have had in family or friends. I look forward to returning from the front so I can tell you in person how Elidibus slaughtered your lover.”

Emet-Selch watched him go, silent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Emet-Selch deserved that.


	9. #8: Clamor (WoL/OFC)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Antonia fae Claudius meets her intended husband, the man known throughout Garlemald as "the Savage Prince", for the first time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set five years after the Battle of Carteneau and the Seventh Umbral Calamity, shortly before the events of A Realm Reborn. Glauca is 22; Antonia is 34.

**clamor**  
_noun: a loud and confused noise, especially that of people shouting vehemently._

It was an unusually mild day in the capital that almost hinted at the promise of spring. For security reasons, the mechanical carriage was enclosed, but Antonia could still hear the clamor of the spectators along the route. She’d asked lux Seneca (no matter how often he insisted she call him Veritas, she couldn’t bring herself to, even in her mind) if all this was truly necessary. He’d smiled at her like they were comrades sharing a secret.

“I fear His Radiance has no fondness for spectacle, and there has been precious little to celebrate these past few years. An Imperial wedding—to the exotic foreign prince, no less!—will give the people something to cheer for. It’s the stuff of novels!”

 _I wouldn’t write it,_ she thought. So much there under the courtier’s flowery words, the implicit criticism of the Emperor and an unvarnished assessment of the war effort. _We’ll stage a lavish production to distract everyone from the endless wars and the cold, distant man on the throne._

Given that she’d agreed to participate, she probably shouldn’t be quite so cynical.

The carriage stopped, and the doors opened onto the entrance of the Imperial Palace, draped with red and white banners in an attempt to make it look less like a fortress of war. Painfully formal in his dress blacks, lux Seneca stood at the top of the stairs, along with a detachment of legionaries. He bowed deeply, and the glint in his pale golden eyes reminded her of Emperor Solus, though she wasn't sure why.

“My lord,” he said to her father, “and my lady Antonia. Will you permit me to escort you to His Radiance?”

She nodded, and lux Seneca extended his arm. The massive doors closed behind them, cutting off the noise of the crowd.

Ranks of soldiers stood at the back of the throne room, with senators in their formal robes ub the front. Blinking red lights indicated that the magitek devices on the walls were recording the event to be displayed later. Thankfully, efforts to brighten up the cavernous hall had been kept to a minimum, mostly in the form of more banners and the high shuttered windows left open to provide a bit of light. The Emperor stood on a dais in front of the throne; at his side was the man nearly everyone in the Empire called the Savage Prince.

lux Seneca paused at the foot of the dais and saluted. “Your Radiance, may I present the Honorable Senator Otho fae Claudius, and his daughter, the Lady Antonia.” He stepped back and gestured to Antonia to proceed.

The steps were steep, and her boots had higher heels than she was accustomed to, but she managed to ascend to the dais without stumbling. The Emperor’s loomed in his spiked armor and crown, looking dour as usual and that too was probably for the best. _Watching him try to smile would be ghastly._ Antonia sank into a deep formal curtsey.

“I am honored, Your Radiance,” she murmured.

“Welcome Lady Antonia,” he said, and she rose. His yellow-gold eyes reminded her of his grandfather’s, but lacking any warmth or humor. “Allow me to present my son—” she thought there was a bite to the word, though she couldn’t be sure, “—Glauca wir Galvus.”

She curtseyed again, a bit shallower this time.

“I am pleased and honored to meet you at last, Your Highness,” she said, and then she rose, looking up—and up, and up—at her intended husband. The Emperor was a big man, but even with his crown, his adopted son was taller. Antonia was of average height for a Garlean woman, and she barely came up to his shoulders. His dress uniform was tailored to show off said broad shoulders and narrow waist, and for a moment she could almost pretend he was just another very young man.

She’d seen pictures of course, so she expected the black horns that curved backwards on either side of his head, the bright blue hair in a short soldier’s cut, and the blue-grey skin that reminded her of a stormy sky. The official portraits and black-and-white photographs couldn’t possibly do justice to his midnight-blue eyes and the thin rings of silver that glowed like moonlight. The entire effect was intimidating and a little overwhelming, until he favored her with a hesitant smile.

He held out both big gloved hands and she took them as he bowed to her. “The honor is mine, my Lady.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ever have a character come and grab the keyboard from you and say, "No, this is how it should go!" That's Antonia.
> 
> The good thing about posting out of chronological order is that I actually write while I'm thinking about it; the downside is that sometimes a lot of context is missing. So if you're wondering why Varis is suddenly treating Glauca like an actual son, here's why:
> 
> Despite Solus dying earlier and Varis taking the throne, everything proceeds as in canon up to Carteneau and the Seventh Umbral Calamity. Emet-Selch realizes that Varis' crackdowns and the endless wars are leading to unhappy citizens, which risks revolution in the Empire before everything is set up for the Eighth Rejoining. He goes to Varis and tells him that if he wants to keep his throne, he's going to need to do something to get the people behind the dynasty again. Rumors about Zenos being insane have already been spreading, especially since Lahabrea's Resonance experiments have exacerbated Zenos' existing issues. Emet -Selch points out that if he presents Glauca as "one of the good ones," i.e. a civilized savage who is using his skills to serve the Empire, it'll make the Garleans feel good about themselves because they're totally not racist. As part of the campaign to make 22-year-old Glauca the friendly face of the Empire, a marriage is arranged with Antonia fae Claudius, 34-year-old daughter of a family that dates back to the Republic and well-known novelist. Before the wedding can be scheduled, Glauca is recalled to active duty with the XIVth at Castrum ~~Cutscene~~ Meridianum.


	10. #9: Lush (WoL/Urianger, Emet-Selch)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Galqar takes a moment's respite in the Rak'tika Greatwood. Company--welcome and unwelcome--manages to find him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set during Shadowbringers, prior to the Qitana Ravel.

**lush**  
_adjective: (Of vegetation) growing luxuriantly._

Galqar loved forests. Growing up first on the Steppe and the Othardian coast, and then in icy gray Garlemald, it was hard to believe that there could be so many trees, so much _green_ in one place. The first time he’d stepped into the Black Shroud, he’d been spellbound—at least until a moogle flew right into his face.

The Greatwood had no moogles, which he appreciated; Sid would be thrilled. The trees were older and larger than those of the Shroud, big enough that with practice, you could walk on their curving trunks from one end of the wood to the other and never touch the ground. The lush canopy of the high branches was dense enough to filter some of the Light, and after the riotous colors of Il Mheg, the dimness was relaxing.

He sat with his back to one of the great trees, listening to the trickle of water in a nearby stream. Y’shtola was safe, resting briefly before they attempted to delve into the mysteries of the Qitana Ravel. At some point, Ver— _Emet-Selch_ —would show up again, but for now, Galqar allowed himself the momentary respite.

The Echo warned him an instant before someone cleared their throat behind him. He reached for his gunblade, then relaxed when he recognized Urianger. Then he tensed again, feeling his face heat.

“Pray forgive my intrusion; I shall depart if thou would’st prefer solitude,” the Elezen said. Galqar tugged on his braid.

“Ah…no, I’m…that is, please, feel free to join me.” He carefully didn’t look as Urianger sat beside him.

After an awkward silence, Galqar finally said, “Look, I’m…I’m sorry. About earlier.” He peeked through his bangs to see Urianger looking baffled. “Back in Il Mheg, when I hugged you without asking.”

Urianger’s expression shifted into a smile. “Ah. There is no need for apologies, my friend. Full glad was I to see thee, and it warmed my heart to know that thou didst share my sentiments.”

“I wasn’t sure…” Galqar said. “it’s been a while, especially for you. And there’s something you should know, about Emet-Selch and me…” He took a deep breath.

“He saved me, when he was Solus. Somehow, he recognized me after I was brought to Garlemald. He made a deal with Varis: he’d name him heir if he adopted me. Then he died as Solus, and came back as Veritas lux Seneca. My magic tutor first, and then…my lover.” He still didn’t dare look at Urianger. In the back of his head he could almost hear Varis sneering, _“Do your precious allies know that you are naught but an Ascian’s whore?”_

A hand rested ever so lightly on his knee. “My dearest friend,” Urianger said; when Galqar finally looked at him, his expression was solemn. “Hath we not spoken of this before, and I didst say then that thou wert not to blame for seeking comort where thou couldst find it, surrounded as thou were by those who saw thee only as a despised savage? Indeed, I find myself grateful to Emet-Selch once again, for by his intervention didst thou eventually find thy way to Hydaelyn’s grace, and to…us.”

They leaned forward at almost the same time. Galqar reached out and cupped Urianger’s face in his hands, tracing the line of his beard with his thumbs. As he’d done once before, he curled his fingers around pointed ears to protect them from the edges of his horns, sharing Urianger’s breath before—

“Oh dear—I’ve interrupted a romantic moment! I’m terribly sorry!”

If looks could kill, Emet-Selch would have been annihilated with no need for white auricite. “Your timing,” Glauca hissed through clenched teeth, “is _atrocious_.”

Emet-Selch’s grin lacked so much as a shred of remorse. “It’s been remarked. Do carry on, you two—I’ll leave you to it. And Master Augurelt, pray don’t worry; I’ve never been the jealous sort. Galqar and I had an open relationship before, you know. I so looked forward to his letters telling me about his—”

A blast of wind shook the leaves of a nearby bush. “You’re getting better,” said his disembodied voice. “Almost got me that time. Have fun!”

Galqar sighed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Galqar remembers Varis calling him out during the parley before the Ghimlyt Dark. [He laughed it off at the time](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20508437/chapters/49454504), but like many things Varis has said to him over the years, it cut deeply.
> 
> Also, I know I write about the logistics of Au Ra kissing a lot, because those horns...


	11. #11: Ultracrepidarian (WoL & Emet-Selch)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's not easy being a Xaela in the Imperial court.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place one year before the Battle of Carteneau.

**ultracrepidarian**  
_noun: A person who expresses opinions on matters outside the scope of their knowledge or expertise._

Glauca stomped into the classroom and flung himself into his chair. At sixteen, his anger was much more intimidating than it had been at twelve; he was over six fulms tall now, his horns had thickened and grown into deadly weapons, and he kept his claws short but sharp. He glared at Emet-Selch.

“Forgive my tardiness, magister,” he said, not sounding that sorry. “People are stupid.”

Millennia of practice kept Emet-Selch from smiling. “People in general, or a specific person?”

“Yes,” Glauca growled. Then he sighed, sitting up a bit straighter. “dus Ventus in particular, though.”

The man Varis had chosen to tutor his younger son in history and politics was not exceptionally stupid, but he was a fanatical nationalist, wholly convinced in Garlemald’s mission to eradicate eikons and bring civilization to the lesser races. Occasionally, Emet-Selch wished he hadn’t been quite as good at stoking the Garlean’ sense of racial grievance. On the other hand, it was useful for the boy to learn to deal with those who despised him; if things went as planned, he’d have to work with Lahabrea once he reclaimed Azem’s seat.

“What did he say to set you off?” he asked Glauca.

“He said that savages—of course he used that word to my face—use of magic naturally predisposes them to worshipping eikons, and proves that they must be kept in line—that’s exactly how he put it—by a civilized race.” His tail thumped rhythmically against his chair as it too often did when he was angry. Emet-Selch had managed only marginal success in breaking that habit.

“And your response?”

Glauca sighed. “Nothing. I mean, I really can’t. He says that sort of thing because he knows it makes me mad, and if I snap at him then I’m proving him right. I _hate_ this! Sometimes I wish—”

 _Lord Zodiark, give me strength._ Glauca had never said directly, always creeping up to the line of wishing he’d never run off from his tribe or clan or whatever, never been captured and never come to Solus’ attention. _You’d have died young out on the Steppe, or worse, She’d have found you and set you against us, and I’d have to watch you die yet again._

Emet-Selch smiled at his old friend and star pupil. “He is your history tutor, yes? Next time, ask him to cite the evidence for his claims. He is hardly an expert in the aetherochemical sciences, or even a beginning arcanist—merely an ultracrepidarian far out of his depth—”

Galqar tilted his head. “A _what?_ ”

“Someone who expresses opinions on matters outside the scope of their knowledge or expertise,” Emet-Selch explained. “He hasn’t the first idea what he’s talking about; he’s just repeating what someone else—” _Like me_ “—told him. He won’t be able to provide proof because there isn’t any. You’ll know—and he’ll know that you know—that he is, in fact, quite stupid.”

Galqar grinned, and for just a moment, the expression reminded him of Elidibus’s near-worship of his fellow Convocation members, long before he became the heart of their god.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to look this word up; I'd never heard it before.


	12. #12: Tooth and Nail (WoL/Emet-Selch) NSFW

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As he prepares for his betrothal, Glauca wir Galvus is feeling a little nervous. His former tutor, now his lover, tries to help him calm down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set concurrently with [Clamor](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26266234/chapters/64251430), five years after the Seventh Umbral Calamity. Mildly NSFW (implied sex, biting and scratching). Glauca is 22; Veritas lux Seneca is ostensibly in his 40's.

**tooth and nail**  
_adverb: With all one's resources or energy; fiercely._

Over the course of several hours, Glauca had been bathed, his hair brushed, his scales oiled, his horns buffed until they shone and fitted with new steel caps on the front tips. His teeth—even the sharp back ones—had been polished, and currently his claws were being filed and shaped.

“Still getting done up, I see.” Glauca turned his head as Veritas strolled into his rooms.

“Still haven’t learned to knock,” he grumbled, but there was no heat to it. At least he’d come in on his feet instead of teleporting.

Veritas waved a hand. “I wanted to check on things. Looking sharp I see—hmm. You must have some lacquer available, yes?” he asked the stylist, who murmured something affirmative. “Good. Something silver, I think.”

Glauca rolled his eyes, but didn’t get up as the stylist went to check. “My dress uniform has gloves,” he pointed out.

“I am aware, but it’s the principle of the thing. You can’t hide who you are—”

“—so use it to your advantage, you’ve told me a hundred times. But no one’s going to see my claws.”

Veritas shrugged. “You’ll have to take the gloves off at some point. Everyone expects to see them, so why not make sure they’re striking?”

The stylist returned, and when she’d finished her work, Glauca had to admit that his silver-lacquered claws looked good. He thanked her both with effusive praise and an envelope containing a generous gratuity. Once she’d gone, he studied his reflection in the bedroom mirror.

“Lady Antonia should be impressed,” Veritas said, now lounging casually on the bed.

Glauca shook his head. He still wasn’t convinced that any of this was a good idea. Only his former tutor’s insistence that this would give him the chance to change things in Gyr Abania made him willing to play along.

“Let’s hope His Rad— _Father_ —is equally impressed.” He flopped down beside Veritas, idly toying with a lock of his wine-red hair. “I’m worried that I’m going to disappoint her,” he confessed, “I have no idea what I’m supposed to do with a woman.”

Veritas propped himself up on one elbow. “You mean you haven’t…not even that officer you wrote about, what was her name…?”

If Glauca had been drinking, he’d have spit it out. “ _Fordola?_ She’d break my horns off and stab me with them if I tried to so much as kiss her,” he said. “And that’s if I was at all interested. Which I’m absolutely not. She’s just…” Not a friend exactly, but she was the one person in Gyr Abania who’d always been honest with him, and he respected her for that.

“I suppose you’d have said something in your letters if you had.” Veritas’ smile was wicked. “You certainly gave me plenty of details about the Scaeva boy, and Gaius.”

Gaius was near the top of the list of things Glauca didn’t want to think about, so he muttered, “Nero’s older than I am,” into his pillow.

“When you’re my age—” Veritas began, but Glauca definitely didn’t want to think about how his former tutor was at least the same age as the Emperor, so instead he rolled over and kissed him. It was always a bit tricky—he wondered how it was supposed to work between two Au Ra, or if they even kissed at all—but Veritas never hesitated, and kissed him back enthusiastically.

“I don’t want to lose you,” Glauca whispered, face pressed against the top of Veritas’ hair. In the last horrible year, that was the one thought he’d clung to.

Veritas trailed a hand down the scales of his back. “I assure you, my dearest, that will never happen.” He shifted so he could look at Glauca. “I have waited so very long for you; I have no intention of letting you go now that I’ve found you.”

A sharp pain, like a spike being driven into his skull, was Glauca’s only warning before the vision claimed him:

_“You just got back!” A suggestion of pale hair and pale golden eyes._

_“I know, and I’m sorry, but I wouldn’t leave if this wasn’t critical. The reports I’ve been getting—if there’s something going on, I have to check it out.”_

_Someone sighs. “Yes, yes. You’re the Fourteenth and it’s your job. Just make sure you come home in one piece this time, hmm?” A long, loving kiss and—_

“Ow.” It seemed unfair that a rare nice Echo vision still left him with a headache.

“What did you see?” As always, there was an unsettling eagerness to the question.

“I was going away, and someone—a lover, I guess?—was unhappy.”

“Hmm.” Veritas steadfastly refused to give him any hints about what the visions meant, which frustated Glauca no end; he couldn’t tell if Veritas was pleased or not by what he’d seen, even when the other man snapped his fingers, his clothes vanishing.

“I think I want you to take me this evening,” Veritas announced, and now it was Glauca’s turn to raise his eyebrows. It wouldn’t be the first time, but Veritas usually preferred to take the lead, and Glauca was happy to let him.

This time Veritas’ smile was oddly gentle, and he reached up and rubbed his knuckles against Glauca’s left horn. “You’re worried that things will change between us,” he said, “and I want to show you that I’m yours, just as you’re mine.”

Sometime during the night, while Glauca was buried inside him, he heard Veritas say, “Mark me, Bright One” and Glauca did, clawing red trails down his back and biting down on his neck and shoulders until he tasted blood. It was only much later that he realized Veritas hadn’t spoken aloud at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to my wonderful wife [Telesilla](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Telesilla) for suggesting that "tooth and nail" could refer to either sex or a spa day.
> 
> Following the Calamity, Glauca begins having Echo visions of Amaurot. Emet-Selch had agreed not to actually remind Glauca of his past, so all he can do is wait and hope that eventually the pieces will fall into place, but in the meantime, Glauca is very confused and frustrated.
> 
> A brief look at Glauca's relationship with Fordola can be found [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20508437/chapters/49353095). He likes her, but there is no universe in which he'd ever try to pursue her romantically.


	13. #14: Part (Nero, Livia)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nero rather likes the prince. Livia very much does not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set in occupied Gyr Abania, roughly 3 years after the Seventh Umbral Calamity.
> 
>  **Warning:** Includes references to incest.

**part**  
_noun: A piece or segment of something, which combined with other pieces makes up the whole._

When the weekly supply ship docked, Nero practically snatched his parcel from the courier. The shape and weight suggested that it was the part he'd been waiting for.

As soon as he got to the palace, he kicked his so-called assistants out of the rooms he’d claimed for a workshop and carefully removed the contents. Being assigned to the provinces meant that he had no end of fascinating projects to work on, but occasionally he needed components that could only be procured from the Academy’s fabrication labs. “Hopefully they got the specs right,” he muttered to himself.

This was his seventh attempt at making a gunblade for prince, one that would enhance the power of Glauca’s spells. The difficult part was that lacking the ability to track the flow of aether on his own, Nero couldn’t calibrate the mechanisms on his own; he had to wait until the prince tested each prototype. Only the first and fourth had actually exploded, but even the ones that failed more quietly meant filing more requisitions and waiting for them to be filled and shipped.

Nero slotted the piece in place, hefting it to check the balance.

“Playing with the prince’s toy again?” Livia stood in the doorway, arms folded and her usual scowl in place.

Nero glared as he packed the gunblade in its case. “What do you want, Livia?”

“My lord Gaius sent me to fetch you. There’s a report he’s been waiting on while you’ve been sucking off—I mean, up to—His Savage Highness—”

“Oh, that’s _rich_ coming from you,” Nero snapped. He didn’t care about the innuendo; he certainly wasn’t ashamed of enjoying a mutually beneficial liaison with an attractive, interesting, and highly-placed individual. But Nero considered himself a man of reason. Whatever the circumstances of his barbarian birth, the Emperor had seen fit to raise Glauca up, and now he fought to advance the Empire’s cause. Livia seemed to have no trouble accepting Rhitahtyn—

—but of course, Rhitahtyn wasn’t young and good looking.

“You’re jealous,” he said gleefully. “You’re afraid he’ll send you back to your room so he can have the handsome prince all to himself.”

“You’re disgusting.” Her white-gloved fists clenched, and he was glad they weren’t in armor. 

“I’m right, though.”

Nero picked up the gunblade and started to leave. As he shoved past Livia, she said, “He’s not completely stupid, you know. What do you think he’ll do when he finally figures out you’re using him?”

He stopped and stared at her, incredulous. “Do you really think he doesn’t know that?” He paused and added, “I saw Lord van Baelsar and his highness and walking together after dinner the other night. The prince said something that made him laugh. Maybe you’d best worry about yourself.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some backstory on the custom gunblade Nero makes for Glauca--including one that exploded--can be found [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20508437/chapters/49071845) and [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20508437/chapters/49142870).


	14. #15: Ache (WoL/Emet-Selch) NSFW

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dalamud had fallen, the Calamity is complete, and Glauca is seven times rejoined. 
> 
> Everything's changed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place the day after the Battle of Carteneau. Glauca is 17. Includes references to sex, and grapes; NSFW.
> 
> If you haven't read Ere Our Curtain Falls from Tales from the Shadows, stop right now and click the link. Trust me, it's so worth it.

**ache**  
_verb: To suffer from a continuous dull pain._

The first thing Glauca noticed when he woke was that everything hurt. His muscles ached like he’d been sparring with Zenos. Someone had apparently driven a lance into his forehead, because his skull was pounding with a pressure he could feel from just behind his eyes to the base of his horns. Even his tail was sore, as was his arse, which felt oddly stretched, and his dick definitely felt like he’d been way too enthusiastic last night.

That was when Glauca became aware of the second thing: he was completely naked. 

He was capable of warding his door against careless servants and creepy brothers who’d come in at night to stare at him, but he still made sure to have nightclothes on when he slept, just in case. Which meant that the third thing he realized was that he wasn’t in his bedroom, or his bed. That made sense, since his bed didn’t include tanned legs with purple hair, or the rest of Veritas, toast in one hand and a book in the other.

_If some god would strike me down, I might start believing in them. Right now would be good._

“Ah, you’re awake. How are you feeling, my dear?” Veritas banished his book, the toast, and the crumbs into the aether. “Forgive me—I should have asked before calling you that, but after last night, I thought…are you quite well?”

As Glauca attempted to cover himself with the sheet, it got hopelessly tangled and sheet and prince ended up in a pile on the floor.

“Kill me now, please,” he groaned. “Let this bedsheet be my shroud.”

“Surely I wasn’t _that_ out of practice, was I?” He opened one eye. Veritas was hanging off the edge of the bed with an expression that could best be described as bemused concern.

“So did we…um. Right. We did.” He was starting to remember watching the grainy video from the magitek drones, Dalamud falling and the eikon emerging— _the Dawn Lord,_ he thought, though he didn’t know where it came from—terrible magicks streaking through the burning sky; he’d only just managed to bow to the Emperor and run to his rooms, tearing his clothes off the moment the door closed behind him because he was burning, the fire was inside of him and he was coming apart, opening windows and pressing himself to the floor in a futile attempt to soothe the flames. 

He remembered cool darkness enveloping, and Veritas holding him tightly, stroking his hair and calling him…something. A name he didn’t recognize, but he knew somehow it belonged to him.

Glauca opened his other eye. Veritas was still there, watching him.

“How long have you known?”

Veritas shrugged, which looked odd from that angle. “It was only natural that you’d become attached, since Varis tried his best to isolate you after the old man died. But it was a child’s affection, so I thought nothing of it. You’re no longer a child, of course, and last night—”

“I asked.” Begged was closer to the mark, if Glauca’s recollection was correct.

Veritas held out a hand; Glauca took it and let Veritas help him back into bed, dismissing the sheet-cocoon with a snap of his fingers and pulling Glauca close. He was comfortably warm. He stroked Glauca’s hair; his tail thumped on the bed in response. 

“How much do you remember?” Veritas asked.

“I called you…you had a different name, didn’t you? I can’t—”Another spike of pain threatened to split his head in two before the Echo dragged him under.

_“What were you thinking, you impossible idiot?!” the robed man in the red mask screamed. Ä̵̝͉̞́̑͝z̶͚̱̟̦̍̄͐͝ͅě̸̻̺m̴̨̨̛̬̎ looked up at the massive fire elemental and shrugged. The name hovered just on the edge of Glauca’s consciousness._

_“I may have miscalculated how large Ȉ̴͈f̴͜r̷̻͋i̵͚͠t̴̨̑a̷̖̾ would need to be in order to contain the volcano,” A̷͇̿z̵̳͝e̵͚̎m̷̜̈́ said, unperturbed. “Cover me, would you? I’m going in.” A lance of pure elemental ice formed in his hands, and he leapt, laughing as he descended, a comet in flight._

_“I’m going to kill you if you survive this!” Ẹ̸̐m̴̐ͅe̶͈͗t̸̢͌-̴̪̽S̴̨̓e̷̺̒l̶̰̊c̴͠ͅh̵̦̉ shouted, throwing up a wall of dark-aspected aether to contain the elemental._

_As his spear struck Î̵̹́f̸͓͋r̵̥͒̃i̵̛̯̱t̴̫͋͐ã̵͚, Ȧ̸̞z̶̡͆e̴̫͋m̶̨̿ yelled back, “I promise the grapes are worth it!”_

“Glauca? Or…P̸͚ȟ̶͖o̴̖̎e̸̫͠b̶̯͠u̷̫̔s̶̩̎?” Veritas’ voice was barely a whisper, but the third word was like claws dragging over his horns. Glauca whimpered in agony.

“I’m sorry…here, let me…” With his eyes closed, it was easy to sense the wave of cool dark aether surrounding him, bearing him up as he floated amidst his memories, but didn’t drown.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When Emet-Selch as Solus found the boy he named Glauca, he agreed not to just give him Azem's crystal, or to return his memories directly. Instead, he's been gradually, carefully smoothing over the cracks in his soul so that the memories can flow more naturally. As a result, Glauca was aware of it when another piece of his soul attached itself, and now his Echo is going completely haywire. He's remembering fragments of their life before the Sundering.
> 
> I am never, ever going to get over the grapes.


	15. #17: Fade (WoL/Emet-Selch)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In a moment outside of time, Phoebus says farewell to Hades.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set during5.0, immediately after "The Dying Gasp".

**fade**  
_verb: Gradually grow faint and disappear._

“Now what?” Hades asked.

Phoebus had braced himself for more of an argument, but either Hades had become less stubborn over the past twelve thousand years—unlikely—or he was just tired.

“Now you return to the world, and…” he took a deep, unnecessary breath, “you prepare to face Elidibus.”

Hades frowned. “There’s no way to do what you did for me?” Before Phoebus could answer, Hades shook his head. “No, never mind. There’s nothing there but his tempering; if you remove that, you’ll destroy him.”

“The Elidibus we knew was lost to us when he became Zodiark’s heart,” Phoebus said quietly. The long ages and the fragmentation of his soul had dulled his resentment, and he wondered if he’d finally accepted that Elidibus had made his choice, as Artemis had when she’d offered herself up in sacrifice. Blaming the Convocation for their loss was to deny their agency, and dishonored their memories just as much as the plan to bring them back.

“Are you sure you’ll be able to end it? Because I’m not certain I can,” Hades asked.

And there it was. “Galqar will do it.”

Phoebus had never been good at discerning the nuances of another’s soul, but he could almost see Hades’ soul flare in anger. “You—no, damn it all! I will not let you do this to me again!”

“I— _we_ —have no choice. I am little different from a primal; massive quantities of aether are necessary to draw me forth separate from the other fragments of Galqar’s soul.” He held up a hand to forestall the inevitable protest. “It is _his_ soul now. I am the base, if you will, but each of the other eight pieces, including Ardbert, have their own histories and memories. Together, we are something new. I will fade into the background, and return Galqar’s body to him, as it should be.”

“So this is it, then? I’ve lost everything, even you…”

Phoebus wasn’t sure whether to kiss Hades or smack him. “You’re still an idiot,” he said fondly. “Weren’t you listening to anything I just said? I am part of Galqar, just as I have been ever since you first met him. And look—”

He gathered a handful of stardust and tossed it into the air. As it fell, it landed on the traces of their old, shattered bond, and on something else, a fragile aetheric connection that passed through Phoebus, but was no longer anchored to his soul alone.

“I broke our bond,” he told Hades, “and then, eons later, you reforged it into something new. Ask yourself, Emet-Selch, Keeper of the Immutable Truths, whose soul is it that calls to you, here in this place outside of time?”

Hades bowed his head, shoulders slumped. Phoebus reached out to him with a tendril of aether. “This shrine of memory that you’ve built will fade, and that’s as it should be,” he said gently. “These young lives are our legacy. Teach them, and tell them our stories, Hades. Share yourself with them, that they may know who we were, and we won’t be forgotten.”

“You’re the Shepherd, not me.” Hades sighed. “I hate it when you’re right.”

For all his brave words, Phoebus’ face was wet, and his smile wavered. He allowed himself one final indulgence, entwining his soul with Hades as himself alone before returning them to the physical world.


	16. #18: Panglossian (WoL/Emet-Selch)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emet-Selch and Galqar needle each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set during the quest "The Ladder" in Shadowbringers.

**panglossian**   
_adjective: Naively or unreasonably optimistic._

The base of the Ladder resembled a bustling hive more than the club of that name across the causeway. The citizens of Eulmore, free and formerly bonded alike, were hauling lumber and hammering steel to help in the effort to reactivate the lift. The Scions were in the thick of it, naturally, but at first glance, Galqar was nowhere to be seen. Emet-Selch closed his eyes, the better to concentrate, and felt along the remnants of his bond with Phoebus.

Galqar was sitting in the shade, his back against a wall. He didn’t look up from the embroidery frame in his hands as Emet-Selch approached, but the tip of his tail twitched ever so slightly.

“I see you’ve picked up a new hobby,” Emet-Selch said.

Galqar bit off the end of his thread. “I didn’t have servants to mend my clothes after I was exiled, and then I found I enjoy this. It’s relaxing, and it gives me something to do with my hands.”

_Phoebus, sitting behind his desk in the Convocation chamber, crocheting scarves. “It helps calm me down when I want to smack someone, and it gives me something to do with my hands.”_

“Well,” he said with a lightness he didn’t feel, “You seem to have started a trend. The citizens of Eulmore engaging in what can only be described as manual labor. Who would have thought it possible? You do have a gift for inspiring the masses, my dear; you’d have made a remarkable Emperor.”

Galqar picked up a needle and thread the same color as his eyes. After an interminable silence, Emet-Selch opened his mouth to speak. Galqar beat him to it.

“‘Conquest is the easy part,’” he said, still focused on his needlework as he flung Emet-Selch’s own words in his face, “‘The true challenge begins once the dust has settled─quenching the glowing embers of animosity and maintaining a semblance of peace. This requires the conqueror to treat the conquered with dignity, and the conquered to let bygones be bygones.’” He looked up, mouth set in a tight, hard line.

Emet-Selch spread his hands. “Yes, I see you were listening, very good. A bit panglossian, to be sure, but true nonetheless.”

Galqar looked up, brow furrowed, then shook his head. “Of course it’s true. You never lie; you just leave out the important bits. Like how you deliberately designed the Empire to make peace impossible. It’s difficult for the conquered to let bygones be bygones when each day brings new atrocities.”

“Surely you’re not blaming me for that. I certainly didn’t tell you to burn down villages.”

“Don’t play stupid,” Galqar snapped, banishing the embroidery to his armiger and standing up. “I made my choice, and that will forever be my shame to bear. But I chose based on what I knew at the time, and on the situation as it existed. And it existed that way because you convinced the Garleans that their lack of magical ability made them better than everyone else, that they alone were rational, and therefore superior. You gave them the mission to eradicate the eikons that your fellows taught others to summon, and in place of gods, you encouraged them to worship you. And then you gave them ceruleum, and bits and pieces of Allagan technology, and sent the Imperial Legions out to go forth and conquer.”

“Oh good; you know your history. Yes, I did all of those things. Again, I remind you that it is hardly my fault if my seeds find fertile soil.”

“And to make sure the crop is tainted, you poison the well. At least everyone at the Gold Saucer knows the game is rigged.”

Emet-Selch rolled his eyes. “Such righteous anger! Perhaps you should do some more needlepoint before you sprain something, my boy.”

Galqar glared at him, but the twitch at the corner of his mouth betrayed him. “That was a little much, wasn’t it? I should leave the theatrics to you and Jenomis.”

He sat down and retrieved his crafting. “It’s not needlepoint, by the way. It’s cross-stitch. There’s a difference.”

Emet-Selch watched him, the silence between them almost familiar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not gonna lie: I've been wanting to write that conversation with Emet-Selch since 5.0 came out.
> 
> Also, I am so sorry for that summary.


End file.
